


Like overflowing tears, I live this fleeting moment

by spicyyakisoba



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ash works as a librarian now uwu, Gen, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, ash and Eiji being soft, it will get happier I swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicyyakisoba/pseuds/spicyyakisoba
Summary: In which Ash doesn't die and loses his memory instead. Eiji gets a job as a photographer and returns to New York, but has to navigate their newly complicated relationship and deal with the past.
Relationships: Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Like overflowing tears, I live this fleeting moment

_Dear Ash_

_Ash -_

_I’m worried to death because I haven’t been able to see you doing well._

_You said we live in different worlds. But is that true?  
We have different colored skin and eyes. We were born in different countries.  
But we’re friends. Isn’t that what counts?_

_I’m really glad I came to America. I met lots of people.  
And more than anything, I met you. _

He was racing down the street, stumbling over his own feet and shoving into passerbys. His knuckles were white as they gripped Eiji’s letter like a lifeline.

_You asked me over and over if you scared me. But I never feared you, not once. What’s more is you’re hurt much more than me. I couldn’t help feeling that way._

As he ran, Ash thought of the familiar winding streets of Manhattan, the dingy Brooklyn bars that he frequented, and the bustle of Chinatown where he would catch the obnoxious purple of Shorter’s hair peeking from an alleyway. The places he had once thought of as home, the people he had once thought of as his family. He remembered Skip, and the way he would look at him in the same way that Ash looked at Griffin. But Skip was dead, Shorter too. Two bullets lodged in their chests. Shorter’s was point blank; Ash had put it there himself. The rest of his gang, he realized, had never been family. No matter how much they respected him, obeyed him, revered him, in the end, Ash was nothing more than a boss, a shining martyr that they heedlessly obeyed, nothing more.

_Funny, huh?  
You’re way smarter, bigger, and stronger than me. But I always felt like I had to protect you. I wonder what it is I wanted to protect you from. I wanted to protect you from fate. The fate that tries to carry you away, drifting further and further. _

But Eiji. That was different. Because Eiji looked at Ash like he didn’t want anything from him, like his mere existence was enough. All Ash had to do was be there, nothing more. Ash remembered the nights in his penthouse, feeling the warmth radiating off Eiji’s body that was barely, not quite, but infinitely close to touching his. The soft comfort in hearing the soft breaths of another being next to him was enough to quell the racing thoughts in his head.

_You told me once about a leopard you read in a book. How you believed that leopard knew it couldn’t go back. And I said you weren’t a leopard, that you could change your destiny._

__

__

You’re not alone. I’m by your side. My soul is always with you.

__

__

-Eiji Okumura 

__

Because Eiji was his home. And Eiji was now boarding a flight to a country 10,144 km away. Ash had decided not to say goodbye, because no matter the number of meaningful glances, the warm embraces, or the thoughts shared between them that remained unspoken to anyone else, in the end, Ash was better off just being a figure in Eiji’s memory. No matter what Eiji argued, they lived in different worlds, and trying to venture into Ash’s life had left Eiji with scrapes and a bullet wound. 

No matter the justification, Ash was left in a pool of regret. Because while he had been thinking about Eiji, Ash had not realized that he could never, truly bring himself to let Eiji go. Ash had realized that too late. He was stupid, so fucking stupid. Ash ran. 

Then, suddenly, he sees the phantom of a black vehicle swerve in his direction. He is in the air, and the pain registers seconds before his head hits the pavement. Black.

\---  
_  
“You should come live in Japan with me.”_

_“Whatever would I do there?”_

_“You could be a model, they’d love you.”_

_“...I’d love to go someday.”_

_“And I’d love to take you. I think my sister would faint if I brought you home.” He laughs._

_“Slight problem, I can’t speak Japanese.”_

_“You’ll learn in no time, Mr. I-read-Hemingway-and-wander-around-libraries-for-fun. Besides, you’ve got me as a teacher.” Eiji says with a smirk._

_“So teach me.”_

_“Okay.” Eiji says and scrawls some characters on a piece of newspaper. “Sa-yo-na-ra. It means…” He pauses, crossing out the characters with his pen and scrawling new ones under them._

_“Actually, you don’t need to know what that means. This is ta-dai-ma. It kind of means I’m home.”_

_“Ta-dai-ma.” Ash echoed, letting the syllables roll off his tongue._

_Eiji smiled._  
  
\---

Ash feels like he is floating again, in that lake next to his house where Griff would take him swimming on summer afternoons after school. He can almost see the dappled afternoon sunlight and the tails of the dragonflies dipping in the water, dragging soft ripples in the water behind them. 

A voice floats in and out of his consciousness, whispering vowels that he cannot attach meaning to. He glimpses phantoms of faces, too. 

An older child, grabbing his hand. (“Wanna play some more baseball with me before Dad gets home?”)

A purple haired man, sporting dark sunglasses, who clasps his arm around Ash’s shoulder. (“Hey Ash, come visit the restaurant sometime. You know my sister will feed you free of charge.”) 

The soft face of a raven haired kid, brushing his hair away from his eyes and grinning at him from across the table. (“You sure you don’t wanna try the natto? It’s really good. Ash, come on!”)

He cannot string the faces to names, but if this is what death feels like, he is content. 

\---

“------ Retrogra--- amnesia”

“Stop--- ------- internal --------”

“Likely ----- not ----mories”

\---

Eiji climbed under the covers of his futon. It had been a long 36 hours; from the long distance flight, to greeting his relieved parents, to the car ride home where he was grilled on his whereabouts and the state of the stitches on his stomach, and the like. Ash flashed across his mind. Although Eiji knew that Ash would most likely not contact him, he still held onto the thin thread of hope that Ash would call the number that he had written at the end of the letter. 

The days passed by and Eiji kept his phone within reach at all times, checking insistently for voicemail to the point where his sister wondered if he had somehow found a girlfriend that he was keeping secret from his family. But the call never came. Eiji had expected that, Ash had an iron resolve and would do whatever he set his mind to, regardless of whether or not others agreed. He was stubborn as hell. But Eiji had meant what he wrote, he would always be with him. 

\--- 

“We should stay away. I think it would be better for him not to remember his past. The things he’s been through…”

“Yeah, but Eiji…”

“I think that Eiji would be better off not knowing too. It would break his heart, Jessica. I think leaving Ash in the past would be the best option.”

“I hope so.”

\--- 

It took all his willpower to crack open his eyes. He squinted at the blinding fluorescent lights and winces when he inhales the sharp smell of antiseptic. He looks down and sees a plethora of IV tubes protruding from his arms, the drip drip drip of the clear liquid into the tube as if it was marking time. The door to his right cracks open as the heart rate monitor starts to speed up. 

A shaggy man in a white overcoat peers in, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with two wrinkled fingers. He is holding a notepad, which he flips through as he gives Ash a once over. He hears the clicking of a ballpoint pen.

“Do you remember your name?” He racks his brain, but there is a foggy space where, he presumes, his memory used to be, like curtains that he doesn’t quite have the strength to draw back.

At his lack of response, the doctor continues.

“It’s all right, this is to be expected. You’ve sustained quite the head injury. Your name is Aslan J. Callenreese. Age 18. Father and mother both deceased. Grew up in Cape Cod, Massachusetts before moving to New York. This folders contain the rest of your records. You may regain some of your memories over time but the chance of a full recovery is slight if not impossible.” The doctor hands him a manila folder and promptly exits the room, shutting the door behind him with an audible click. Aslan (his name felt weird somehow, like a pair of shoes that didn’t fit), extracted the files from the folder and scanned over them. Scar on left abdomen, evidence of past gunshot wound and tearing of said wound. Healed tear on right shoulder, possible weapon: switchblade. Evidence of recent nutritional deficiency. Aslan wondered what kind of bizarre incidents he couldn’t remember. At least he still knew how to read.

\--- 

“Hey, I’m leaving early. Got a date tonight. Do you mind locking up for me?”Aslan looked up from the stack of books he was sorting through to his freckled coworker.

“Yeah, of course.” He smiled.

“Thanks man!” 

It had been a few months after he had woken up to the smell of antiseptic and a gaping expanse where his memory used to be. After being cleared for his injuries (several bruised ribs and a severe concussion) he had taken a taxi back to the address written in the folder of his personal information. His supposed residence was a large penthouse. After spending a few bedridden weeks nursing his headache, Aslan had gotten a job as a librarian at the NYPD. It was definitely not for the salary, the job definitely didn’t pay well enough for the number of books returned with coffee stains on them that he had to register as damaged. (Not that his bank account needed it, Aslan almost had a heart attack when he checked the balance.) But whenever he stepped into that particular library during his frequent prowls around new york, he would be hit with a sense of dejavu (then again, the entire city gave him deja vu.) and a feeling of comfort in its familiarity.

Aslan finished stacking the last of Hemingway’s books onto the shelf of the Literature section. WIth a sigh, he returned to his desk and pulled on his tan overcoat. He retrieved the keys his coworker had handed to him and locked the heavy wooden doors behind him. 

Aslan trudged out of the building, taking in the earthy scent of the evening breeze and the distant honking of cabs. He turned a corner to find his feet (and growling stomach) leading him towards the entrance of a restaurant, neon sign blazing above the entrance. Ash pushes open the glass door and walks up to the counter.

“Hey, could I have a beef lo mein to go, please?” 

“Of course. Cash or credit?” The waitress glances up at him and he catches her frown for a millisecond, before her expression is immaculately smoothed out again. Ash pays with the crumpled 10 dollar bill that he fished out of his coat pocket. He waits by the door for a few minutes while the food is being prepared, rereading the same sentence in his copy of The Catcher in the Rye before he feels a pair of eyes on him. He glances up to see a tall, quite buff man whose eyes widen almost comically. 

“Boss!” He exclaims, before being elbowed in the ribs by his companion. 

“Shut up, Kong.” They both promptly scurry out of the restaurant. Ash is so caught off guard that he almost forgets to bring his take out with him when he leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for updates soon!!


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